


Love the Cook

by littlechinesedoll



Series: Alpha Clark Kent and Omega Bruce Wayne [7]
Category: Batman - All Media Types, DCU, Superman - All Media Types
Genre: Alpha Clark Kent, Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Established Relationship, Fluff, Intersex Omegas, M/M, MPREG SEX, Mates, Mpreg, Omega Bruce Wayne, PWP, marital sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-02-11
Updated: 2016-02-11
Packaged: 2018-05-19 16:49:23
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,166
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5974582
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/littlechinesedoll/pseuds/littlechinesedoll
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Alfred is on his day off, the kids are out being actual kids, and Bruce is making lunch. He’s in an apron. Clark’s dick can only get so hard. Bruce on the other hand, is reluctant to oblige because he just really wants to eat lunch.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Love the Cook

**Author's Note:**

> unbeta'd.

On Sundays, Clark was allowed to sleep in.

Because Bruce knew that his unreasonable cravings left Clark disoriented, especially when he had to shake him awake in the middle of the night after an exhausting day saving the world, just to ask him for some slice of cake he once had in France, or some Hainanese chicken in Singapore, or sometimes he just wanted some greasy fast food, from a hole in a wall joint in another state. He also knew he was a possessive asshole that he didn’t like Clark talking to people who weren’t League personnel. He demanded sex whenever he felt like it, which was all the time, not that he had ever heard Clark complain about having so much sex.

He was an insufferable pregnant person in general, and Clark had been the most understanding alpha despite his bullshit. So he let Clark have his lazy Sundays. Someone was sure to have already taken over his monitor duty shift way before he could call in and say he wouldn’t be able to make it.

And on Sundays, Alfred could have the day off if he wanted to. Today, he went on that day off. And apparently, so did all the children, so Bruce was thankful that he only had to make lunch for only Clark and himself. Clark could eat a horse if he wanted to, and not gain a pound, so to indulge his appetite, Alfred, and of course, he would for today, make a lot of extras.

And contrary to popular opinion, he could cook. He could at least the easy kind of cooking. How could he not at least try to learn how? Alfred’s not going to be around forever however dreadful that might sound, and of course he’d want to feed his own child himself.

A salad and a lot of pesto pasta with some grilled chicken fillet wasn’t too hard anyway.

Bruce set aside the bowl of freshly made vinaigrette with the prepared vegetables, and put the ingredients back into their respective places. The pasta was done and drained, the pesto sauce was sitting next to the drained pasta, so he only had the chicken fillet to ready. He should be done before Clark woke up, and he and the baby were hungry. He hurried, so he could eat. He’d just yell for Clark to wake up when he was done.

Krypto sat at his feet with his tail wagging happily. “I’m not letting you wake up Clark,” he told him. “Go and bother Ace before I step on you,”

The dog whined, but went over to Ace anyway and sat beside the black Great Dane. Bruce could tell Ace wasn’t impressed. He chuckled.

* * *

Clark groaned. He outstretched his arm, reaching for his bedmate. His eyes snapped open and he sat up, disappointed to find that the other side of the bed had gone cold. Bruce had already been up for a while. He glanced at the clock on his nightstand. It was nearing noon.

“Hm?” he tilted his head, and listened carefully.

Two beautiful heartbeats were in the kitchen. He swung his legs over the edge of the bed, sat up, and stretched a little. With a leisurely pace, he went to the bathroom to freshen up and gargle, and headed downstairs to greet his mate.

His walk through the hallways was quiet, and then realized that he, Bruce, and the dogs were the only ones home. He excitedly made his way down the grand staircase, and found his lovely mate preparing their lunch in the kitchen, and the dogs near him sitting vigilantly as the most adorable bodyguards ever.

“Oh, good,” said Bruce as he removed the slices of cooked and seasoned chicken breast from the griddle. “You’re awake,” he turned the stove off, and deposited the tongs he used into the sink.

Krypto excitedly got up and went over to his master. “Hey, boy!” he said, rubbing behind the mutt’s ears. “Tell you what, if you’re a good boy, and stay with Ace at the doghouse and finish your lunch,” Krypto looked up earnestly, waiting for the reward for being good. “We’ll play fetch,”

The enthusiastic dog scrambled his way through the dog door, and Ace calmly followed.

“That game of fetch will not be using any tree from my garden, or my cliff, Clark,” said Bruce. 

“Looks really good,” Clark put a gentle hand on Bruce’s hip, kissed his shoulder, and hugged him from the back.

“It better,” Bruce snorted as he went over to the counter in the center of the kitchen behind him. “And you better eat it all,” he pulled a knife from the knife rack near him, and started slicing the chicken.

“I meant you,” Clark moved his hand slowly from Bruce’s hip to under his domed belly. He felt the child move, and a surge of pride went through his chest. It was a kind of pride knowing that both his child and mate were healthy and strong.

“Come on, Clark,” said Bruce irritably. “Don’t piss me off, I’m hungry,”

“But I’ve never seen you in an apron before,” Clark pouted. “And you look terribly enticing,” he tenderly caressed his mate’s belly, moving in circular motions, and pressed his body closer to Bruce’s.

Bruce’s eye twitched in annoyance when he felt something that shouldn’t be pressing up his ass. “I swear to God, Clark,” he hissed. “If you and your boner don’t step away from me right now, I will stab you with this knife, and you better pretend to be hurt, or I will grab what’s in the safe downstairs!”

In less than a second, a blink of an eye, and a small gust of wind, Clark was on the other side of the kitchen, taking out the plates they’re supposed to use for lunch. “So, where’d everybody go?” he asked, trying to stir away from the mess he almost made.

“Kids are out for a movie,” Bruce answered as he continued slicing the chicken. He put it in a serving bowl, so they could decide how much chicken they wanted on their plate later on. “Alfred’s on his day off,” with his fingers, he took a slice of chicken and dipped it in the pesto sauce before putting it in his mouth.

_Huh_ , Bruce thought, feeling impressed with himself. That was actually pretty good. Now he hoped Clark found it good, too.

Clark helped clear out the counter, and set the plates and cutlery down for them to use. Whenever there were only a few people at home, they opted to use the counter instead of messing up the dining hall, also because it was easier to clean up the counter.

He wasn’t lying though, when he said Bruce looked irresistible in that apron. He’s seen Bruce make himself something to eat, but never a full on meal, and he sure as hell had never seen him wear an apron before. Well, a cooking apron. Clark had already seen Bruce in safety aprons, and usually those meant he was mixing some dangerous liquids.

Cooking aprons showed Bruce in simpler way. That not simple was bad, it was just that Clark saw Bruce in the more uncomplicated ways of life. That they didn’t lead two different lives, and were just two mates at home having brunch. What Clark loved about it most was that it showed off Bruce’s beautiful, new curves, especially his belly. It made him giddy.

Clark grinned as he watched Bruce prepare.

“What?” Bruce said suspiciously.

“Nothing,” Clark answered playfully.

Bruce rolled his eyes. “The boys can probably smell you from the other side of the city,” he turned around and deposited the knife into the sink, and ran some warm water to wash it.

“Well, what can I say,” Clark shrugged. “I have a gorgeous mate,”

Bruce put the knife back in the rack, and reached for an apple from the nearby fruit bowl and chucked it at Clark. “Oh, really?” Bruce raised a brow at him.

Clark caught the apple and bit into it. “Really,” he set the apple down and moved over to the other side of the counter, smoothly put his hands on Bruce’s hips, and pressed his lips on his nape.

Bruce put his hand over Clark’s on his hip, and lifted it to the underside of his belly. “Alfred isn’t going to appreciate this,”

“Alfred doesn’t sleep in the servant’s quarters,” Clark breathed on Bruce’s neck.

Bruce spun to face Clark and put his arms around his shoulders. “I didn’t think you were that serious about your list,” he croaked as Clark continued to press kisses on his neck.

Clark moved them slowly out of the kitchen, careful not to bump into anything that might hurt Bruce or the baby. “I might be very serious about it,” his lips drifted from Bruce’s neck to his lips, kissing him slow and languidly.

Bruce didn’t notice, but a door had been opened, and then they were in a small room that Clark locked shut. He was on the single sized bed, a small television that had probably come from twenty years ago, a bookshelf, and a dresser. It looked like it had been locked and untouched for years, like it had come from a time from Bruce’s childhood, but there wasn’t much dust.

“Don’t take it off,” said Clark.

Bruce threw his pants and underwear onto the floor, and was just about to untie the apron. “What?” he looked up at him.

“Don’t take the apron off,” Clark quickly took his pajama bottoms off, and got on the bed, right in between Bruce’s legs. “Jesus, the things you do to me, Bruce, sometimes by just standing there, wearing an apron,”

Bruce wanted to take the apron off. It was in the way, was already stained with his pre-cum and fluids, and would probably be stained in more cum and fluids later on. _And_ he’d have to wash it himself, because he didn’t want Alfred to have to wash that. He’d already told Clark to wash the sheets himself whenever they got something on it.

“Hurry up and fuck me!” Bruce hissed at him. He grunted as Clark suddenly pushed into the soft and wet folds, making Bruce claw at Clark’s arms. He opened his legs a little wider, and groaned at the pleasurable sensation of being filled. “Move!” he demanded.

Clark slowly withdrew, then pushed back in, and made shallow bucked movements.

“Faster,” Bruce breathed, “Go faster,” he pulled Clark down into a filthy, open mouthed kiss.

“You smell so good,” Clark panted onto Bruce’s neck as he obliged him. “Feel so good, look so good, Bruce,”

Bruce felt a hand wrap around his cock, gently tugging, but was making him reach his climax faster. He moaned, and Clark couldn’t tell if he was in pain, so he slowed down.

“Something hurt?” Clark asked worriedly.

“No!” Bruce frowned at him, “Keep going!”

“Bruce,” Clark frowned back.

“He’s moving, okay!” Bruce sharply breathed out as he shot Clark an angry look. “Now come on!”

Clark wanted to laugh, but didn’t, and started to move again at the pace Bruce guided him to. He did give Bruce a wide smile though. He just couldn’t help that warm feeling of joy that spread across his chest every time Bruce told him their baby was strong and active, that their bond was fruitful, and that Bruce was healthy and well.  

Bruce put a hand to his belly, the other hand still on Clark’s arm, gripping tightly as he grunted and moaned through Clark’s thrusts. “He’s moving,” he said through gritted teeth, “Oh, he’s moving—Clark! Sh-shit!” his toes curled and again both hands were clawing at Clark’s upper arms.

Clark lifted the apron off Bruce’s belly, making it and Bruce’s shirt scrunch up at his chest. He saw some movement, and again it made a smile wider than the previous one grace his face. He traced the movement on the taut skin with a gentle hand, hoping that soon it would be a small hand gripping his finger.

“Bruce, I’m close,” Clark breathed.

“Hunh!” Bruce grunted, shivering as his orgasm hit him before he could tell Clark. He wrapped his legs around Clark’s waist, pulling him in. Thin ropes of cum ended up on Bruce’s belly, and he wet the bed with his body’s lubricant.

Clark rode through Bruce’s orgasm, and moments later he too released, flooding Bruce’s insides with his warmth. Bruce lied on the bed, feeling exhausted and like jelly, looking up at Clark with a sated expression.

“That was really good,” he panted.

Bruce swore that was another shit eating grin on Clark’s face.

Clark bent over and kissed him, short, sweet, and quick. “But seriously, Bruce, you have no idea what you do to me,” he said.

“I think I do,”

After all, Bruce got the reaction he was hoping for.

“Now get off and eat the food I made,”


End file.
